


Sibling Rivalry

by ang3lba3, Mellomailbox



Series: Baby Dragons and other founders of Republic City [3]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Ambassador Sokka, BDSM conversation, Established Relationship, Fire Lord Zuko, M/M, Polyamory, Post-Finale, mild self hate language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:07:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23884249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ang3lba3/pseuds/ang3lba3, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellomailbox/pseuds/Mellomailbox
Summary: Sokka scrubs his hands over his face and into his hair, still wiggling around, like the words took shape into caterpillars on his skin. Zuko soothes some of them away, petting at a bicep with his palm.It’s hard to feel self conscious when Sokka’s clearly having some kind of delusional tantrum. He’s using up all the embarrassment in the room.“You don’t like that we’re sexually active together,” Zuko says solemnly. “That’s fixable.”“DO NOT DUMP MY CRAZY HORNY SISTER, YOU MONSTER,” Sokka yells. “SHE’S PERFECT AND YOU DON’T DESERVE HER.”
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), background zuko/katara
Series: Baby Dragons and other founders of Republic City [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1721398
Comments: 15
Kudos: 332





	Sibling Rivalry

**Author's Note:**

> Mello: Eyyyy, so here we are again, creating a stupidly specific and niche poly au from a tiiiny fandom. Like our FMA one, pretty much anything goes here. In this specific ficlet it's Zuko/Sokka, although Zuko/Katara is mentioned and there will be more down the line. 
> 
> To be clear: there is no cheating in this series. Sokka's an Ambassador and not Fire Nation, so Zuko taking him as consort is a secret for political reasons only. They're both open about needing to see other people and while they're romantically involved, they're not exclusive by any means.

"Was that," Zuko stops. He doesn't usually start a sentence if he doesn't know how to finish it, but sex loosens his control. And he can't think of how to end it. _Was that good for you?_ Cliched. Too unfamiliar for what they are. But he feels unfamiliar, right now. 

Sokka had kept -- flinching, almost. And he doesn't know why.

“Um,” Sokka says, and he always starts sentences that he doesn’t have any intention of finishing, so Zuko’s not surprised with nothing else is forthcoming. They both shift at the same time and pull away, cleanup reflexive. 

“Sokka,” Zuko pushes, and Sokka gives a full body shiver that’s not recognisable at all. He’s been privy to many a Sokka shiver; cold and disgusted and very, very aroused, but this isn’t one of them. 

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Sokka says, face barely lifted far enough from the pillow for Zuko to hear him. 

“It.” Zuko tries the word out. Tries to pry some meaning from it. _It._ There’s never been _it_ before. He finds the notion unwelcome in his home, his bed. He’d like to rid himself of _it_ immediately. 

Suddenly his question doesn’t seem so cliched. Suddenly it seems urgent. He flips on his side, so he can stare at Sokka, analyze his every reaction. Actually, better make this as thorough as possible. He scoots a few inches away so he can get more of Sokka in his field of vision.

“Was that good for you?” he demands.

“Eugh!” Sokka responds, and buries his face further in the pillow, sticky hair clinging to his squared jaw and tree trunk neck. Zuko’s almost distracted by brushing it aside with his fingertips, thick, corded muscles bunched tight underneath his touch, except that Sokka flinches at the touch. Something cold settles sideways in Zuko’s gut. 

“...ah,” Zuko says, understanding. It was— well, it was only ever a matter of time, wasn’t it?

“Stop that!” Sokka snaps. Zuko flinches. “NO! I meant— it was—”

He shoves up on his elbows and glares over his shoulder at Zuko, clearly blaming him. The scowl is also unfamiliar, as is the angry flush to his cheeks. Or maybe not unfamiliar. Just— something Zuko didn’t want to ever have directed at him again.

Something like self consciousness rises up. That’s all he’s willing to call it, here, in his bed, with Sokka still in it and still close. With his sweat dried on Zuko’s skin, and Zuko’s dried on his. He can call it other, more accurate things, later. But right now, he’s just… self conscious. A soft, dignified emotion, one without the necessary depth for Sokka to reach inside of it and rip Zuko apart. 

“No! Look, see, you’re _doing it,_ that thing where you _think_ too fast for me to keep up!” Sokka sits up fully and grabs Zuko’s shoulder in a giant palm and shakes him a little. “It was,” he starts. Sees something in Zuko’s face and swallows the lie, _it was good, it was perfect, nothin’ to worry about hotshot, same as ever, sexy like burning._ Zuko pulls away and Sokka lets him go. 

“Uuuuggghhh,” Sokka groans, and buries his face in his hands and kicks his feet under the silk. 

“I’m fine,” Zuko lies. His voice is horribly‘self conscious’.

“I’m not a girl!” Sokka shouts into his palms. “I’m not my _sister_!” His shoulders are to his ears. 

“I was not… under the impression… you were?” Zuko attempts placatingly. He’s known Katara for years. He’s _slept_ with Katara. She’s nothing like Sokka.

Sokka scrubs his hands over his face and into his hair, still wiggling around, like the words took shape into caterpillars on his skin. Zuko soothes some of them away, petting at a bicep with his palm. 

It’s hard to feel self conscious when Sokka’s clearly having some kind of delusional tantrum. He’s using up all the embarrassment in the room.

“You don’t like that we’re sexually active together,” Zuko says solemnly. “That’s fixable.”

“DO NOT DUMP MY CRAZY HORNY SISTER, YOU MONSTER,” Sokka yells. “SHE’S PERFECT AND YOU DON’T DESERVE HER.”

Zuko tries to interrupt, but Sokka keeps on. “She’s the best thing that will ever happen to you! Except for me! Oh gods, my need to be the best big brother is warring with my need to be the sexiest thing in your bed. Sealshit! Agh!”

“We don’t have sex in my bed,” Zuko says, quickly, reassuringly patting Sokka’s back where he’s thrown himself dramatically into the pillows again.

“WHY WOULD YOU TELL ME THAT!”

“I don’t know! I’m sorry! Tell me what you need!”

“I need you to _never_ call me Katara when we’re in bed together!” Another full body shiver, revulsion rolling off of him. 

Zuko can’t help it.

He laughs.

He laughs _really hard._

It’s just— what he and Katara _do_ … it’s not like what him and Sokka _have._ It’s not a state of being, it’s a series of actions. It’s absurd to compare the two, absurd to think he could possibly mix them up. Especially when if anyone’s face down and writhing, it’s not going to be _Katara._

Sokka’s glaring at him mulishly through his hair again. “Why’s that so funny? You just cashing in that Fire Lord bullshit to get a two-fer on a coupla’ exotic tribes people?” There’s enough irritation in his voice to sand down a chair. 

“Do you know why Katara… asked for my company?” Zuko says. Because he’s starting to think Sokka doesn’t know.

“Yeah,” Sokka says, and waves vaguely at all of Zuko. 

Zuko squints, and glances down. Once again, he does not see what Sokka was going for. 

“Katara doesn’t care that I’m the Fire Lord,” he starts, and Sokka rolls his eyes.

“Why are we talking about my sister when we’re in bed together?” He grumbles, reaching for Zuko’s hips. 

“Because— _no,_ don’t distract me. She wanted someone to beat around, _Sokka,_ and it wasn’t gonna be Aang, because he’s— not…”

Sokka freezes. He’s staring at a bite he left above Zuko’s left nipple, a red crescent, a bloody moon on the pale expanse of Zuko’s skin. “She hurts you?”

“No! Yes! In a sexy way!” Zuko says quickly. “She’s not actually beating me.” _Or not more than I want, anyways._

“She hurts you in a _sexy way_?!” Sokka shrieks. Then coughs, his voice audibly dropping. “You… like that?” 

“It’s. Sexy.” Zuko looks up at the ceiling. No gods or spirits helpfully strike him with lightning, so he looks back down.

“Uh,” Sokka starts, eyes darting around the room. “Do you, do you wanna have, I can, do you want me,” his breath is coming faster than before, chief’s necklace rising and falling rapidly. 

“Do _you_ want _you,_ ” Zuko says nonsensically. He wants to die. He wants to shrivel up and roll under the bed frame with all of Sokka’s clothes that accumulate there, and he wants to _die._ He doesn’t love Katara, not that way, but he’s suddenly appreciating the hell out of her and her tendency to not hyperventilate.

“Is it good for _you_?!” Sokka blurts, finally meeting Zuko’s eyes. They’re wretched, big and wet, his bottom lip between his teeth even if his jaw is jutted stubbornly. He’s still clutching at Zuko’s hips and he squeezes. “It-- I can make it better, if that’s what you need, I can _do better.”_ He pleads. 

“You’re doing,” Zuko starts. He shoves his face into Sokka’s shoulder, because he can’t fucking _think_ while looking at him. “I didn’t tell you about it because I thought you’d be. Weird.”

Sokka’s arms slide along Zuko’s sides and settle on his back, pulling him closer as he buries his face in Zuko’s hair. It’s gotten so long that Sokka complains about mistaking the bits that get caught on his clothes as tiny, skinny snakes. “I’m completely fucking normal.” 

“I was right,” Zuko says flatly. “You’re being completely fucking weird.”

Sokka tightens his hold. “Excuse me for freaking out that someone I care _deeply_ for seems to need my baby sister to beat him up!”

“I don’t _need_ it!” Zuko yells into Sokka’s collarbone. “I don’t need anything from her!”

“What do I even do for you!” Sokka asks, cupping Zuko’s ribs and pushing him away. He tips his face so that Zuko’s forced to hold his gaze. “Why do you need her?”

Zuko closes his eyes as spitefully as possible. “Maybe because it’s nice to be around someone, sometimes, who understands _not liking me._ But that’s just. _Nice._ And. And.” He opens his eyes again. 

Confusion, comprehension, and then _rage_ , and Sokka’s shoving away and stumbling to his feet. “I thought we were _past this_ ,” he hisses, pacing angrily, ass out without a care for decency. “And Katara-- I can’t believe she’s _encouraging_ it!”

Zuko flops onto his back, crosses his arms, glares at the ceiling. “I don’t know. How to explain this to you. Because I haven’t ever had to explain it.” he takes a deep breath, because clearly he’s going to have to _try,_ before Sokka stomps out of here and makes Katara try for him. “Your sister doesn’t actually hate me. And she doesn’t have the ability to make me do things that I don’t want to. She doesn’t mean anything she says to me for more than a minute, and she only hits me because she knows I want her to, and she makes me _ask_ for it.”

“But you hate yourself.” Sokka says, minutes after Zuko’s finished talking and is waiting patiently for Sokka to work through the words, the implications like delicate silk string that’s been tangled beyond use. Sokka picks at it, unravelling, brows furrowed. 

“Not always.” Zuko shrugs. “And anyways, it feels good to not— be in charge. But still be in charge? To trust that… I can say no, or stop. It’s like— training. Pushing yourself, building muscle. It’s not… whatever you think.”

Sokka steps over to Zuko’s side of the bed and braces himself with a knee, reaching for his neck. His hand is warm and big and Zuko leans into it, holding Sokka’s gaze, challenging him even as he accepts his comfort. “I don’t hate you,” Sokka says seriously. Zuko rolls his eyes and Sokka shakes him again. “No, shut up. I _don’t hate you._ ” 

“Neither does your sister,” Zuko points out, lips twitching into a smile. “I think she might even like me, you know. On special occasions.”

“But you hate yourself,” Sokka says again, settling on the bed now. “And this feels like her hatin’ you. I’m having trouble feeling good about that. Not that I have a say!” He adds, in a rush, because he knows he’s _just a consort._

Zuko makes a face. “Of course you have a say. If it’s going to hurt what we have, we’ll stop. Katara can see if Toph wants to experiment, and I’ll just—” he puts a hand over his face. He is not going to explain his masturbation habits. He is _not._ “Journal? More?”

It’s Sokka’s turn to make a face. “Is this like, medicine? Like the healing you do with the Fire Sages, when you go on those sabbaticals or whatever?” 

“I mean…” Zuko says. “Maybe? She— think about the people in my life, for a moment, who have hated me. Or said cruel things to me, or hurt me.”

“In their defense, you’re easy to bully,” Sokka jokes. Zuko pushes on. 

“And in Katara’s defense, she’ll always stop when I ask her to. Exactly when I ask her to. Which is… important to me. Feeling like I can say stop. And someone will— listen.”

Sokka fidgets some more, playing with the hair at the nape of Zuko’s neck without humo’s safety net to fall back on.

“Also,” Zuko says, and gestures at the bite mark on his chest. “I uh.” He gestures more emphatically, as if to say, _remember the noise I made?_

“You gag for this shit,” Sokka mutters, pretending to be awed. 

Zuko flushes red, and tries very hard not to think about all the things Katara has helped him gag on. “I will push you off the bed.”

Sokka pokes the bite and watches Zuko squirm this time. He grins, but it’s fleeting, his face immediately falling. “I just imagined--- I dunno, more? But the idea of hurting you, even if you want it,” he doesn’t finish, frowning at the bedspread instead. 

“Sokka, what the hell do you think biting is?” Zuko demands, and finally gives into the urge to shove him. Just a little. Just off of him a bit. This is getting obnoxious. “Or when you drag your fingernails down my back? Or when I say harder, and then I clarify, _no, hold me harder._ ”

Sokka windmills his arms dramatically and throws himself onto his back with an “Oof! Easy there, chief, you’re gettin’ a little _rough_ for this simple tribesfolk here.” 

“Rough?” Zuko says in his most aristocratic accent. “Surely you mean hurshitibe.” 

“Hurswhatnow?” 

“Hurshitbeshenfu,” Zuko says, straightfaced and snooty.

“Oh, yes, I did mean hurshitbeshenfufofifum,” Sokka says.

“Hurshitbeshenfufofifumblogotumbi,” Zuko corrects.

Sokka stares him down.

Zuko stares back.

Sokka’s eye twitches.

Zuko presses his lips into a flat line.

“Hurshitbeshenfufofifumblogotumbibushucumbo.” Sokka says, and Zuko breaks, laughing.

“Are you having a stroke?” Sokka asks innocently. He pats at Zuko’s knee. “Do I need to call a healer?” 

“No, I’m just so impressed with your vocabulary,” Zuko gasps out. “It’s just so, impressive. Verbose.”

“Hey, I’ve been studying. Only the best educated secret consorts for the Fire Lord, y’know,” and Sokka’s grinning too, finger wiggling against Zuko’s knee. 

Zuko hooks his foot around Sokka’s leg, drags him closer. “So,” he says, leaning in close. “Was it good for you?”

“Eh,” Sokka shrugs. He licks his lips. “Maybe we oughta’ give it another go, a good ole’ college try.” Zuko’s hair is pooling on his chest in inky swirls, soft and light in a way that makes Sokka’s skin buzz. 

“I’d hardly call you collegiate, but I’d be willing to tutor.” Zuko curls a hand around Sokka’s waist, suddenly glad that he preferred to do his angry-think-stomping without pants in the way. Made the post-angry-think-stomping sex much more efficient.

“I’ll tute your dick,” Sokka murmurs as Zuko dips down to kiss him, capturing his unimpressed groan in his mouth. 

Zuko pulls back after a long moment, and says, “You are all I _need._ Okay?”

Sokka blinks, and blushes, and grins. “Once you go South,” he starts, the rest muffled by Zuko’s hands smothering his face. 

“Yeah, yeah, well, good thing I have you here. Permanently.” Zuko moves his hands from prime Sokka-sound-blocking territory to cup the edge of his jaw. There’s plenty of things that Zuko needs that he’s learned to live without over time, until they fade to a _want_ and then a _regret._ He doesn’t think humans can live long enough for him to regret Sokka. 

“Sap,” Sokka teases, but he’s visibly pleased. “You’re it for me, y’know? Even if I have to learn to be mean to you.” 

“You’re always mean to me,” Zuko says, but it’s breathless in the face of Sokka’s honesty. “And it’s not a competition.”

Sokka’s eyes narrow. “Oh, yes it _is._ ”

“Oh,” Zuko breathes, and then, “ _oh.”_ And then on an afterthought, “Wait. Please don’t fuck Aang to win.”

“ZUKO, I SWEAR TO YUE,” Sokka shouts against his neck. 

“Don’t bring up your ex in bed!” Zuko says, faux scandalized.

“You’re about to see how intense water tribe sibling rivalries can _get,_ ” Sokka threatens, biting down on the juncture of neck and shoulder. 

“I think I own that novel,” Zuko manages when he stops whining and writhing. It takes longer than he wants it to. It does not take _nearly_ as long as he wants it to.

“Less talkie, more moanie,” Sokka orders, shifting between Zuko’s thighs and grinding.

“Fuck--ngh--you!”

“That’s more like it.” 

**Author's Note:**

> find ang3lba3 on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/cryingiscooltm)
> 
> We've started an 18+ Zukka Chaos discord! Click here [here](https://discord.gg/9qbzhcb) to join.


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